


Hard Times

by deacertes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Discussion of prostitution, Gen, Past Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 00:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10605774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deacertes/pseuds/deacertes
Summary: d'Artagnan is angry and humiliated following a run in with the Red Guards; in an attempt to offer solace, Aramis speaks of his own past.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't really sure what warnings to put on this one, or how to summarize it, so if you think I've missed something please let me know.

The others exchanged looks as d'Artagnan all but threw himself down onto the bench beside them.

"Problem?" Porthos asked

"No," d'Artagnan snapped. Aramis raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything. Athos poured the young man a drink and pushed the cup towards him. After several mouthfuls, d'Artagnan set it down hard enough to slosh the remainder over the table. Athos reached across and refilled it.

"So, nothing's wrong?" Porthos asked; his expression said that he didn't believe it for one moment.

d'Artagnan muttered something.

Athos frowned. "Sorry?"

"I said it's the red guards."

"Ah," said Aramis. "And what have the Cardinal's finest being saying?"

d'Artagnan shook his head, and the others were mystified to see twin spots of colour stain his cheeks.

"Come on," Porthos encouraged. "Can't be anything we haven't heard before."

"I wouldn't be so certain," said d'Artagnan, sourly.

"What if we promise not to breathe a word of it?" Aramis rested a hand over his heart for emphasis and the other two nodded in agreement.

d'Artagnan sighed. "All right. They keep making these accusations, about how I... well, how I must have really earned my commission."

"And how's that?" Porthos asked.

d'Artgnan leaned forward and waited until the other three leaned closer. "They implied that I earned it on my knees," he hissed, staring down at the wooden surface of the table.

"Well, that's not so terrible."

d'Artagnan managed to pull his gaze away from the table to give Aramis an incredulous look. An instant later he seemed to realise that they were watching him and he looked away again as he took a desperate gulp of his drink.

Aramis glanced at the others and seemed to reach a decision. "At least you don't have to worry about telling them what I could, if I chose to," he continued, with forced brevity.

"What's that?"

"That's it's been a long time since I've had to earn my bread that way."

d'Artagnan sprayed most of the mouthful he was drinking across the table and tried not to choke on the rest. With a put-upon look, Athos blotted wine off his sleeve. Porthos shook his head, smirking.

"W-w-what?" d'Artagnan stammered.

Aramis poured the wine this time. "Understand, I was young when I arrived in Paris. I had no family or friends here, and no trade to offer."

"But you were a soldier," d'Artagnan blurted out; unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Back then I would have been lucky to find a place in any man's army," said Aramis.

"Too short and skinny," declared Porthos, ruffling his friend's hair affectionately.

Aramis indignantly swatted his hand away. "I was not short. Although," he conceded, "I may have been on the slender side."

"Skinny," Porthos mouthed to d'Artgnan with a wink.

Aramis jabbed him with an elbow. "As I was saying, I wasn't able to gain admission into the King's army straight away, and after several days competing with the rats for food, it did not seem such a dreadful hardship to allow a fellow to stick his hand down my breeches in return for a few coins."

"So, you..." d'Artagnan seemed unwilling to finish the sentence.

"I was a whore," supplied Aramis.

Athos and Porthos both frowned at that. "Oi, you were never a whore," said Porthos.

"No? And what would you call someone who sells sexual favours for money?"

"A friend who fell on hard times," said Athos, mildly.

"To hard times," said Porthos, holding his cup aloft. "We've all suffered them. May our friendship prevent them from ever befalling us again."

Athos raised his cup.

d'Artagnan glanced around the table. "To hard times and good friends," he offered, holding up his own cup.

Aramis stared at each of them in turn, seeing only acceptance and affection. He slowly raised his drink. "One for all-"

"-and all for one," the friends saluted each other.


End file.
